What Daddy Did (31 page)

RECENTLY, IT WAS MY SON
Paul's 22nd birthday and we celebrated it like we do all birthdays in our house – together as a family. We always have a homemade cake and we all join in preparing a meal. This time, we made Japanese food as Paul's fiancée is half Japanese and she showed us how to make sushi. We bought gifts and cards for Paul and we showered him with love.

I remember having a birthday party in the children's home, just a month before I left. It was a happy occasion, made even happier by the thought that my Daddy would soon be coming to take me home to my real family and my new Mummy. I remember getting a nurse's outfit with a striped dress, white hat and apron. There was even a little plastic watch pinned to the front of the apron. That's the only birthday I remember in my childhood. I don't know what happened to the nurse's outfit because when I came home to stay with my Dad and Helen, I had no toys at all.

I don't usually think about the fact that my birthdays were so different from those of my children. This is yet another aspect of my life that was just so wrong and it hurts. Sometimes, however, the past comes back to me when I least expect it, such as on Paul's birthday. Seeing my children and Ayumi laughing as we all attempted to roll sushi – and Saoirse's face lit up by the candles on the cake that Claire had made – I thought about the contrast between my life and theirs. Of course, I'm ecstatically happy to see how different my children's lives are from my childhood, but sometimes I still weep for the little girl I was. It's strange, but the memory of little details like birthdays can be more hurtful than thinking about the physical, sexual or emotional abuse. I was always alone as a child; I never felt that I belonged; and to not even have a birthday or a Christmas was terrible.

Throughout my adult years I've questioned many aspects of my personality. I've looked at just how what I endured as a child has affected the woman I've become. Some areas of my life have been rewarding – such as parenting and art – because they were easy for me to grasp. It was, in my eyes, so easy to be a good mother because I knew how it felt to be unloved, uncared for, abused and starved. I knew that I only had to listen to my children's needs and respond to them; I only had to respect and love them and always protect them.

My children have always known that I have a great sense of fun, and we've used every opportunity to enjoy ourselves. They would often come home from school to discover that we'd be having a picnic tea down on the beach or up in the hills. Every morning I woke them with a song – I still do it now with Saoirse, in spite of her telling me I'm out of key! Our house has always been somewhere for my children and their friends to congregate. Whenever I can give them fun I will, but my children have always had boundaries, such as regular mealtimes and bedtimes, because I believe we all need a certain amount of routine to allow us to accept the discipline we need in our adult lives. I have insisted on them having good manners because rudeness is ugly. I am no different from many parents in that I just want the best for my children. The only thing that sets me apart from many is that I had such a terrible example of parenting set for me by my own father and Helen.

My art has always been with me. I just knew in my heart that one day I would be an artist. When I started truanting from school at around the age of 13, I sometimes went to the National Gallery on the Mound to keep warm. Here a world opened up for me. I was blown away by the paintings. I'd stare in awe at the Botticellis, Rembrandts and Mac Taggarts, to name a few, and I'd wonder just how they were created. I knew then that one day I would find out.

It took me until I was 30 before I started on my path as an artist, after my marriage to Robert had broken up and I was at a very low point. I decided then to go to college to study art, and although I haven't done everything in the way I would have liked, I am happy because I feel successful. There are many ways that we measure success as an artist. For some, it is enough to sell the odd painting here and there; while other artists would argue that unless you are truly recognised and displayed in the major galleries then success is not yet won. For me, I paint and draw because I love it and because my work brings pleasure to other people. I have exhibited and sold in the UK and abroad, particularly South Africa. Many people have bought my work and are respectful of my achievements. To me, that is success. I do have further hopes and ambitions as far as being an artist is concerned, and I intend to pursue every one of them, but I am delighted with the relative success I now enjoy. Art has always been an escape for me, the one thing that nobody could ever take from me.

I would say that my major problem in life has been my inability to sustain and nurture relationships with men. I have thought long and hard about this, and I have often wondered just how much what happened to me as a child has had a bearing on my role in personal relationships. There have been four important relationships in my life and I value each one for what it has brought me, but I wish with all my heart that I'd had one and only one, because I believe that families should stay together. I know that break-ups are sometimes unavoidable, and that many single parents do a fantastic job, but I really do believe that it is better for everyone to stay together.

When I was around 15, I started going to the local youth club. One of my friends at this time was a happy-go-lucky, popular girl who had lots of friends, both male and female. I always wished that I had her confidence because she was happy and fun to be around. For her, it was the most natural thing in the world that boys fancied her, and to flirt and have fun with them. I, on the other hand, was terrified of boys coming near me at all. I felt dirty and used, and I thought that boys would know straight away. Although this was the mid-1970s, attitudes in our neighbourhood were still very much stuck in the 1950s when sex before marriage was taboo, and 'nice' girls didn't let boys near them sexually. Another friend of mine who got pregnant, unknown to me, was whisked off to stay with an aunt, returning some months later with a baby.

People who know what it's like to have their innocence stolen will understand what I'm trying to say here. For those who haven't experienced sexual violation in childhood, I would like to explain. When we are children, we don't have much choice. We are ultimately at the mercy of the people who care for us or are involved in our lives. Sometimes these people do terrible things, like my stepmother did, and as did the men who, in their sick depravity, took from me my innocence for their own sexual gratification.

My first important relationship was with Robert. For the first time in my life I was a sexual being. I could give and receive love and know that sex wasn't something that was just taken from me. This feeling was very new as I had previously only known invasion into my secret private places. But when I met Robert, what shocked me was the natural way we enjoyed each other.

We really loved each other in those early days, but we were so very young and we both carried baggage. Unfortunately, at some point in our relationship, life got on top of us. Something had to go and we parted. So many times I look back and think if only I knew then what I know now, maybe we could have stood a chance. I know so much more about how I was damaged and how that would have a bearing on any relationship. If I could go back there armed with that knowledge and wisdom, I believe we could still be together.

I'm not exactly sure when we started having problems but I do remember arguments about why I was no longer interested in sex. I can remember that we were having many difficulties because Robert's business was not succeeding. I was juggling working in the Social Work Department with bringing up two children under five. On top of that, my father-in-law, whom I loved and respected, had a stroke and was paralysed. It seemed like my world was falling apart. I blamed myself and felt that all this bad luck was down to me being rotten inside. I just didn't want sex, and the very thought of it took me back to dark places in my childhood. Rather than dealing with this problem and others that we were having, I just let Robert walk away.

I was heartbroken, and I'm sure Robert was too, but neither of us seemed to have the ability to address any of the real issues we were experiencing. To be perfectly fair, nobody knew what had gone on for me. People have always thought that I am strong and capable of bouncing back, but inside I was a broken little girl trying to deal with the aftermath of many years of abuse, and I didn't know how to cope with the adult world.

As I sit here now it is easy to be melancholic about the past and those times. It is also easy to blame myself or what happened to me as a child for my inability to sustain a relationship, but I know that it takes two people to make a relationship and two people to break it. After Robert and I split, my self-esteem and confidence shattered, and I felt really down about my situation. I had to pick myself up, brush myself down and start again. This was not an easy thing to do because I really believed at this point that I was tainted and inadequate.

Looking back at other relationships, I now know that all the elements must be right for two people to enjoy a healthy sex life. My second marriage was a violent, abusive, controlling one. Ian's idea of sex was about having 'his' needs met. He would bring up my past, and accuse me of being frigid. He broke my nose, terrified the life out of me and my children and then wondered why I couldn't love him in the way he wanted. In the end, I could only have sex with him if I'd had a few drinks.

The relationship with Ian took me to a very bad place. All the time I was with him I was reminded of my past. Having read some psychology I know that this was subconsciously what I expected. With Ian, I knew what to expect all the time. I was always frightened, and that was a feeling I was used to, even though I hated it. I believed that he loved me because he would cry, apologise and tell me that he loved me, and that nobody would ever love me like he did. Everything about his behaviour was wrong and he took advantage of my vulnerability.

That's not love. That's abuse all over again.